


Much Is Lost In The Bloodied Act

by RougueShadowWolf



Series: 15 Minutes [233]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adopted Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Deucalion (Teen Wolf), Alpha Talia Hale, Alternate Universe, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Blind Deucalion (Teen Wolf), F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Stiles is Deucalion's Daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RougueShadowWolf/pseuds/RougueShadowWolf
Summary: On the day he gained superior power was also the day he lost everyone that ever mattered to him.





	Much Is Lost In The Bloodied Act

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my secret hideout little hero, and do please ignore the bodies of those who came before you. They all simply came crashing in here like they owned the place, none of them even knocked, just came crashing through windows and doors?! Can you believe that. One of them even came crashing through the roof, the ROOF!? They had absolutely no manners, none. 
> 
> Alrighty my darlings, if you are familiar with this series then you can skip this part and head down to A Slight Change, but if you aren’t familiar with this series then please stay with me so I can explain a few things about this series. So, this series is written in 15Minutes as a form of payment to my friends, and each tale is badly written. If you can’t handle weak storytelling, bad grammar and plenty of typos then I encourage you to leave now, after all why should you suffer? However, if wish to continue reading my little story then please move down to A Slight Change to learn a little bit more about this fic. 
> 
> A SLIGHT CHANGE is just the introduction of a theme, such as Deucalion (how is that a theme?), still ItAlmostWorked! still has the power to demand things such as female Stiles, Deucalion as her biological father, past feral Deucalion but also not sane Deucalion, she also wanted Stiles’ mother to have been a huntress. I did my best with what I was given, and this is the result. 
> 
> Hi! So, last week this story and a few others were meant to be posted, but I was hit with a migraine and after it cleared the rest of the week was just a little bit too chaotic, and well, I had to visit my aunt and so I'm going to get the job done this week. So, I'm here asking you to wish me luck while I wish you a glorious end to September and hope that October will be wonderful to you and all you love.

The violent haze began to fade when there was but a single heartbeat to be heard, a heartbeat that belonged to him and him alone. The lone beat made it possible for him to regain much needed control, allowing him to rein in the wolf that had gone wild, almost feral, when it became clear that they could not trust their betas not to steal away not only their alpha power but also their life.

With the pleasing sound of silence and safety the fear-based rage was replaced with a peculiar sense of euphoria.

The newfound power pulsated in their veins was pleasantly. The thrum of strength yet untested made promises that he could not yet understand. The feeling of being something new and better even while still wrapped in darkness, it made him feel for once less afraid.

With every beat of his heart Deucalion felt stronger and better, and he could not help but laugh from where he sat on the floor of a house that reeked of destruction and death, a house that reeked of distress and fear, rage and blood.

Deucalion could not recall ever before experiencing such a heavenly feeling that was so closely woven in strength and power, but almost as soon as Deucalion acknowledges his superiority amongst others who shared his statues in life, this sense of delight and pleasure that he felt slipped away.

Suddenly, the cold chill of dread washes over him, making it hard for him to breathe. It’s the thought of finding his wife and sharing this peculiar experience with her that breaks the spell, sending him crashing back to reality, one which is soaked in blood and entertaining death.

The thought of Alexandra, his beautiful and good wife, banishes all pleasure and joy from his heart and body. While the cold hand of cruel realization grasped on tightly to him, sending a chill that would put the Siberian winter to shame, Deucalion hoped to hear the familiar heartbeat of his wife and the child she was carrying; the sound of Alexandra’s heartbeat had lulled him to sleep many nights, and of late the young little heart of the baby he might’ve been hoping and praying the baby would be a boy.

The taste of iron in his mouth and in the back of his throat now triggered a sense of nausea. The stench of decay so putrid he feared it would soak into his skin and very bones, never to be washed away.

Feeling the dried blood on his hands, beneath his fingernails, felt like a mark burned into his very skin, and with a suffocating lump now situated in his throat, Deucalion called out into the world he could not see the name of the one he loved.

`Alex? ´ his voice, strangled by the firm hands of dread, does not carry far.

The silence that surrounds him now has become something terrifying.

He waits a heartbeat or two before calling out to his wife once more, voice a little bit louder and far more desperate in nature, but the terrible silence remains.

Scrambling to his feet, unable to breathe as a dreadful though seeps into his mind, but Deucalion wills himself not believe the horrific scenario his mind conjures.

Broken glass breaks his skin as he struggles to his feet, but the pain is almost none existing while consumed with a fear so grand it could not be measured. The crunching of broken glass beneath his feet sounds unnaturally loud in the deathly silence that surrounds him, and each unanswered call for his beloved fortifies that most dreadful of thoughts.

`Alex! ´ Deucalion yells, while the most dreadful of thoughts continues to claim more space, making it harder to not believe that he may have done something truly horrible during his bloodied rampage. However, Deucalion couldn’t believe that he could’ve lost so much control that he would’ve done anything to harm his wife or child.

The beast him, the part that had taken over when those he trusted turned against him, now whimpers and whines, it hides even under a heavy blanket of shame and regret.

`Alex!? ´ he shouts into the frightfully quiet world.

Stumbling around helplessly made him feel small, like a lost child in a world full of monsters and people with ill-intentions. Tripping over what he suspects are the bodies of his packmates has him feeling uneasy, more so when there was a possibility that one of this bodies might belong to the woman he loved. Each body he steps upon sends an unpleasant shiver through his body.

This, his home, has become because of him and the traitorous actions of his betas a place of nightmares.

When he steps on the small and delicate bodies of the young, he cannot help but cry out in genuine horror. The realization that the wolf had ripped through the bodies of even those still too young to pose a genuine threat to them, breaks him in more ways than one; still, there is a far darker side of him that reminds him that these dead children would’ve grown-up to become a threat to him, reminding him that they would’ve eventually have come after him with the intention to avenge their parents and siblings, and soon enough Deucalion does see reason behind the need to extinguish certain bloodlines completely, leaving but his own to liv and prosper.

`My love, answer me! ´ Deucalion eventually demands, with a hint of alpha voice beneath it all, which should’ve been enough to bring his wife out of hiding, after all she didn’t tolerate him using his alpha voice on her or their child. Alexandra had never taken well to being ordered around, not even by her own family and especially not by her own husband.

The memory of Alex shooting him in the knee while he was courting her, he’d made the poor decision of demanding she move out of the small apartment she’d been sharing with two males, two males who were gay and shouldn’t have thus awakened a jealous side in him, but it had and turned him into an overbearing jerk. Then there was the arrow to the knee, an arrow that had reminded him that he could not order her to stay in bed throughout her pregnancy because she was a strong and capable woman.

`Please, my love, answer me! ´ Deucalion calls out into the frightfully silent space of what he thinks is the den, all the while desperately trying to find even the slightest hint of the bond he should feel when it came to his wife, but there’s nothing there just a horrible emptiness that made him feel ill.

`Alexandra! ´ he all but howls while panic begins to influence the thoughts in his mind and some functions of his body, there are but a few reasons why his bond with his mate was no more, all of the reasons for this disappearance were dreadful and frightening to him. 

Deucalion makes his way blindly around and about, grace and silence greatly lacking as seeks the lady of his heart, he worries not over the bodies he may and does step upon. He searches with an air of desperation for his one true love, calling out her name, his voice growing and falling like the motions of a melancholy sea. Deucalion continues to seek for what he fears is lost for all eternity like a fool full of delusional hope, he searches while he clings to a possible ending that wouldn’t leave him further broken and altered.

That which he seeks he finds by stumbling over one body and falling down upon another.

The scent of the body which had cushioned his fall reveals the identity of the lifeless woman that lay beneath him, unmoving and unbreathing, and at the realization of the identity of the woman Deucalion moves swiftly off of the body, all the while chanting a single word like a prayer to the heavens to undo the damage done.

`No. No. No. ´

The wolf in him howls in deep mourning, accepting the loss gracefully, death in its mind was final and thus death was easily accepted by it.

At a distance from the lifeless body of his wife he sits for a little while, crying towards the heavens he cannot see, pleading with gods ancient and old to undo the untimely death of his dear Alexandra. But the gods are gone, or deaf to his pleas, and soon he stops his desperate cries and accepts the agonizing reality of loss most final.

Shakily seeks out the body of his wife, and once found pulls the lifeless body of his wife into his arms, begging words threaten to rise from his mouth but he knows they are but wasted words and so swallows them bitterly down. There’s still some pride left in him.

He weeps over the loss of his wife for a good while, and when that grief settles within him and the flow of tears become more controlled, a life terrible young sneaks into his mind.

Recalling the young and delicate heartbeat of someone too small, someone still so underdeveloped that surviving outside the body of its mother was impossible, he moves a hand down to the small bump that had already formed in show of life created. The loud horrified cry that escapes him while his hand sinks into the deep wound, one created with sharp claws that had so easily cut into soft flesh, claws that he now fears had belonged to him.

Cradling the lifeless form of his beloved wife, he grieves the loss of the woman who’d captured his heart and the child that was denied a chance to experience the wonders of life and love.

There is a small part of him that dares to think, he is not to blame for these deaths. However, the blood beneath his fingernails, the still lingering taste of blood in his mouth, all of it and the scent of death and decay makes him doubt his innocence in the death of his wife and unborn child.

In his deep despair Deucalion forgets for a moment all about the child that Alexandra had blessed him with, the one born as hurriedly as she took to crawling and walking, and when he finally does remember the little girl who had her mother’s eyes and dark waves of unruly hair, a sickening feeling of dread most foul settles inside him.

The silence surrounding him is cruel, it sets a terrible chill in his bones and makes it hard for him to breathe. 

The thought of his first-born, his now only born child, Deucalion carefully lays his wife down on the floor. Breathing in a shaky breath, Deucalion calls out for the daughter he’d believed before the birth would be a son, and a son who’d taken after him, and yet when he’d held the child who was not at all what he’d expected he’d loved her and desired nothing but for his daughter to grow and be happy.

`Bellatrix. ´ he calls as softly as he can while his voice trembles with fear and unease.

`Bellatrix? ´ Deucalion manages to choke out, fear and sorrow blooming inside of him while he stands on shaky legs.

The unnatural silence terrifies him, but not nearly as much reaching for the bond that had him tied to his daughter long before her speedy and loud birth; still, no matter how afraid he is of what he might find, Deucalion searches for the thread for he needs to know if there was indeed nothing left to salvage.

His heart does a peculiar and painful thing when he finds the once vibrant bond of innocent life still there, be it now thin and wavering. The confusion and fear he can barely feel, speaks loudly to not only him but also that dangerous and wild part of him that urges him to find their missing child.

`Bellatrix! ´ Deucalion shouts out into the dark and eerie silence before trying to catch the scent of his daughter, a little girl who had always felt a little bit wild to him due to the almost unnatural curiosity Bellatrix possessed, her love for life and all things living was a constant source of worry for him and her mother; poisonous serpents were beautiful and cute in Bella’s deep amber eyes, snails and worms might not be all that cute but were still worthy of life in the eyes of his little princess who would cry miserable if you killed a simple fly. 

There’s a degree of urgency when it comes to finding his daughter, not simply because she was so young and missing, but also because of the way the bond that he now clung too with both hands was growing weaker by the minute.

When he’s able to finally catch the scent of his daughter, he finds it corrupted with fear that has been expressed in the shape of tears of distress, and that realization causes his heart of ache to the point of nearly bringing him down to his knees.

The trail takes him outside the house, into the backyard where he had been confronted by his brother, his second, and a handful of betas all now dead just like his mate and their unborn child. Deucalion didn’t regret killing his brother, or the betas who had supported him in his attempt to steal Deucalion’s life and power; Deucalion had every right, every goddamn right to defend himself, and so the only thing he did regret about the bloodbath was the fact that his wife and mate had been caught in the crossfire.

Of course, it doesn’t sit well with him that Bellatrix had been made to witness the death and destruction of what had been her family, and he had grave concerns about how she’d react to him and whether or not she would ever be able to trust him the way she had. She’d always been his little princess, always trusting him to keep her safe and to help her, allow him to fix her dislocated shoulder and sat quietly and still when she had to get her shots even with her fear of needles. Deucalion couldn’t imagine a life where she wouldn’t trust him again, or a life where she would fear werewolf and see them as the monsters she’s never before seen them as.

`Bellatrix, my little princess. ´ Deucalion calls out into the darkness, the chill of the night and season reminding him of how easily it could do his daughter harm, thus making him wish for not the first-time she’d been born something other than just human.

Deucalion continues to yell into the cold night, following the trail his daughter had left behind, one which moved this way and that, revealing just how much the child had struggled when it came to where to go. There is a cursed moment that he thinks and hopes that his little girl had hid in the gentle pink playhouse that he’d had built on the property alongside with two sets of treehouses, it would give her a warm shelter do it having both running water and indoor heating, but then his daughter made another turn and headed towards the direction of the dark woods.

He’s made it to the edge of the property where the soft grass and colourful flowerbeds are replaced by thick and tall trees, when another scent weaves its way into his senses, one which he recognizes as his sister-in-law and the murderous intent in her scent sends him running into a world full of obstacles.

His voice growing raw within minutes as he screams in near hysterics for his daughter while his hands are outstretched, his panic seems to only increase the pulsating ache behind his damaged eyes. His hands suffer damage more than once, at times great damage as he runs into trees, at times the impact with trees knocks him almost unconscious and it is only by the thought of Bellatrix that has him clinging to consciousness.

He yells for his daughter, roars threats into the night that are directed at his sister-in-law, a woman he and his wife had so often trusted to look after their daughter. 

His throat feels raw from all the shouting and the occasional screams of frustration by the time something or rather someone other than a tree knocks him down, in his panicked state he’d failed to hear his sister-in-law approaching due to his focus on only finding his daughter.

Vicious claws slip into his shoulder as he scrambles to rise, another set of claws coming dangerously close to his throat before he senses the danger on its way, in one swift motion he breaks the offending arm, the sound of the bones breaking gives him a dangerous sense of satisfaction. 

The fight between an alpha and a beta wasn’t fair at best of times, and even now when he lacked sight to see the she-wolf aiming to finish the job her mate had started there was still a clear unbalance of power and skill there. Deucalion had spent decades learning how to fight even at times with eyes covered, his sister-in-law had only been a werewolf for seven-years, and had never sought out to be a beta that would be sent into the frontlines of battle; and with the mother of two now sporting a broken arm, and with how her mind was obviously clouded with rage and grief her fall was swift, and the knowledge that she’d been hunting his daughter had fuelled Deucalion’s will to end her life.

He’s got her broken knees, his bloodied hand and claws deeply imbedded in her skull, and a clawed had ready to slice her throat out when she coughs out with almost sick bemusement, `You’ve lost her. ´ The words still him, mostly by the steadiness of her heartbeat.

`Where is she? ´ he asks, voice rough and angry.

The cruel cackle that leaves the woman almost has him questioning her identity.

`Gone. ´ there is no lie to catch in her response.

`She’s gone. Gone. Gone. ´ the woman all but sing-songs, voice growing weaker with each sluggish beat of her heart. 

`What did you do? Where is she! ´ he questions, demands of the woman who had captured to easily corrupted heart of his younger brother.

`Why don’t you find her yourself, _alpha_. ´ the beta sneers at him, and that’s all it takes for him to snap, he doesn’t intend to rip her head off her fragile neck but it happens, and he is genuinely horrified by it when he realizes why there’s a heavy weight still latched to his hand and claws while a body slumps against his legs, the blood of the woman seeping into his already stained clothes as he stands there stilled by shock and horror.

Deucalion remains there or a moment, stepping back just enough for the body to no longer be leaning on him, shaking the decapitated head off of his claws, trying to just digest what had happened, and what had been said. His thoughts are a jumbled mess.

He’s able to smell Bellatrix on the woman, and it is almost as distressing of a find as he imagines finding the body of Bella would be. Deucalion knows that his daughter would’ve trusted her auntie, enough to give his now dead sister-in-law the opportunity to do great harm to his daughter; unless, of course, Bella had seen her as a monster after the horrors she’d witnessed, and that’s an uneasy thought to swallow.

_She’s gone,_ the cruel voice sings cruelly in his mind as he stands on unsteady legs, deep wounds knitting themselves back together again with almost sickening ease, shakily Deucalion reaches for the bond that should exist between him and his daughter.

The bond between him and his daughter is still there, but only just, which is enough to push him back to moving. He calls out into the darkness that surrounds him, begging for his daughter to answer him, all the while feeling how their bond continues to shift and twist, to fade, until all that is left is a bond so fragile that he dares not touch it.

He calls for his daughter as he goes back to trying to find a trail of his daughter, but he’s brought to a stop and down to his knees when the thin as a hair bond between him and Bella breaks. The feeling of the break, the separation, is so violent that it knocks the air right on out of his lunges, his legs buckle under the weight of his grief and his heart stops for a brief and painful moment. His very soul feels as though some unforeseen force had come down and ripped it straight on out of his trembling form. His mind shatters in a new and terrible way as it struggles to comprehend what has happened. He struggles to understand the sense of devastation he feels at that moment.

To see him survive his grief, the dark and dangerous side of him seeps forth and begins to slowly twisted and morphed his pains into anger, building him a new with resentment and wrath that hardens him and banishes his weaknesses into the earth as the icy shower of near freezing rain washes him clean.

*

There’s a scent in town that has been bothering her for a while now, there’s something achingly familiar about the scent that makes her determined to find the source of it, which is why Talia is now come to stand outside what appears to be a perfectly ordinary house in the far more modest parts of Beacon Hills, a fine little area to raise a modest family. The scent is strongest on this small property, the house feels as does its small path of front-yard of past neglect as houses and yards left abandoned for long stretches of time tend to do, but the freshly planted flowerbeds and pots tells her someone is trying to bring new life to the place.

There’s a powder blue Jeep parked up in the driveway, and sunbathing on the hood of said car is a scruffy-looking cat that appears to startle awake the moment she takes her first-step onto the property, the foul beast with uneven ears and glaring eyes hisses at her and she is genuinely surprised when the cat lifts it chin in defiance when she flashes her alpha red-eyes at it while also growling in its direction.

_Interesting_, Talia thinks as she continues to watch the cat that continues to watch her.

Reaching the front-door, Talia takes her eyes off of the cat just long enough to find the doorbell and ring it, only to find once she turns her attention back to the Jeep the cat has disappeared.

The sound of tiny feet running on the other-side of the door draws her attention back to the front-door, which opens with little warning and the scent that has brought her is now strong enough to pull at memories of a time long ago when she’d held a tiny bundle of motion, with cheeks soft and round, eyes bright with almost unnatural curiosity.

`You’re not Scotty. ´ says the girl with eyes like liquid amber, a pout appearing be it only for a small moment but it reminded Talia of a woman who’d once captured the heart of one of the most prominent alpha males, one who had since lost his way in the most terrible of fashions.

`Hi. ´ the little girl says, going as far as to give her a little wave, the cast she’s sporting is decorated with colourful flowers and even a lifelike fox, all drawn and painted with great skill and care. 

`Hi. ´ Talia responds, barely able to speak as she begins to recognize the child before her, and she can’t help but bring herself down to the eyelevel of her goddaughter.

`Stiles, what have I told you about opening the door…´ the alarmed voice of a woman rings out before said woman appears beside Bellatrix, and for a second Talia thinks she’s come face to face with the ghost of Alpha Deucalion’s late wife.

`You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did you see a ghost? Is there a ghost in the house? ´ the little girl says, asks in rapid succession, and she sounds far too excited about the idea of there being ghosts in the house.

Talia doesn’t know how to respond to the child, in some regards one might say she had indeed seen more than one ghost.

`May I help you? ´ the woman wearing a pair of jeans that had seen better days even without all the paint stains, the plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled-up past the forearm was a sun-bleached blue, the choice in clothing and the short stature of the woman is enough to confirm that this wasn’t Alexandra the mate of alpha Deucalion.

The woman who could’ve easily passed as the birth-mother of young Bellatrix picks-up the child Talia had believed dead, everyone had believed the child had been killed years ago by the elements or by the hand of her father or aunt; not a soul really knew the details of that night, and many believed that Deucalion had killed the apple of Deucalion’s eye, even her own son who had sworn in a moment of grief and anger that he’d one day find Deucalion and kill him for killing little Bella.

While Bellatrix grumbles about not being a baby, the lady of the house repeats her question to Talia.

`May I help you? ´

Talia stands-up from where she had been crouching, and plasters on her face the friendliest of smiles.

`Hi, my name is Talia Hale, ´ she introduces herself with ease and without making it sound like the woman should know her, but Talia’s eyes do drift towards the little girl hoping to see some form of recognition there only to find none.

`I’m so sorry for bothering you, ´ she apologizes, moving just enough to the side so that the pale short woman could see her car, `but my car just died on me, and I really need to use the phone. ´

Suspicious eyes narrow as they move from Talia to the car, all the while the woman holding Bella tightens her hold of the child.

`You see, I need to call my husband, ´ Talia continues, voice still very apologetic, `and ask him if he could pick-up my son from basketball practise. Derek, my son, ´ Talia clarifies, doing her best to appear flustered but not too much flustered, `he’s at an odd stage where he seems to think he’s being overlooked due to him being the middle-child. ´

`Are you sure he isn’t? ´ Bellatrix asks her all of a sudden, and the question is such that Talia is genuine startled by it and made to question for a moment if this child knew something she didn’t.

`Stiles. ´ the woman who had yet to introduce herself cries out, clearly horrified by the bluntness of the child she was holding.

`What? It’s just a question. ´

`Not all questions on your mind need to be voiced. ´ the woman explains in that special way that tells Talia this isn’t a new subject between the two, this is a subject spoken about frequently like Talia going on and on about why her children are not allowed to get tattoos.

`But, mom, you’ve said there are no stupid questions, or wrong questions. ´ Bella counters while wiggling her way out of the hold of the woman she called her mother.

`Yes, that may be. But there are times when certain question shouldn’t be asked, and some question should be formulated differently so not offend people. ´

`You adults are too complicated, and I don’t like it. ´ Bellatrix declared with a huff before turning on her batman sock clad feet, `Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving, I have a blanket fort to build. ´

Talia watches with some amusement as the little girl leaves with a huff, head held high and arms crossed over her chest.

`I’m so – so sorry. I swear she’s not usually…´ the woman who had taken Alexandra’s spot starts, but then with a shake of her head and wearing a fond smile she confesses, `no, that’s a lie. That was all Stiles. ´

`It’s fine. ´ Talia laughs softly, `some might say by the way my girls behave that they were raised by wolves. ´ This seems to lessen the unease the brown-eyed woman, for a small laugh leaves her then.

`I’m Claudia, Claudia Stilinski. ´ and with that the woman steps aside, gesturing for Talia to enter her home.

`You’re Deputy Stilinski’s wife? ´ Talia asks cautiously since she only knew the man was married, but the name of the woman hadn’t reached her ears.

Claudia nods in response, a fond but proud smile coming to rest on her lips.

`I’ve heard nothing but good things about your husband. ´ Talia continues, following the woman into the small kitchen, `I dare say, the Sheriff is already grooming him to be his replacement. ´

Making her way into the simple kitchen, slightly old-fashioned but none the less homey, Talia noticed a great many framed photographs showing off the small family that was the Stilinski’s, and she wasn’t at all surprised to not find a single baby picture of the child she caught sneaking her way into the living-room just as Claudia pointed Talia in the direction of the phone. Talia recognized that determined and slightly mischievous expression on the familiar face of Bellatrix, she’d seen it enough times to know the little girl was up to something that might not garner her favours from Claudia.

`Would you like something to drink? ´ Claudia ask, perfectly unaware of Beatrice stealing a couple of couch cushions and heading upstairs as silently as a thief in the night.

`Yes, please, anything will do. ´Talia answers while waiting for her husband to pick-up the phone, after all sharing a little bit more time with Claudia Stilinski might bring her much needed answers.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh yes, I’m back to sharing information or ideas, for as long as I can that is. 
> 
> First, I’d like to confess that my brain was pretty much on this little idea in my head where in the future, when Stiles finds out the name Deucalion and Alexandra gave her, her reaction is to shriek, `You named me after a Death Eater! A villain. The bitch killed Dobby! ´ and Deucalion is all, `What’s this Death Eater and who is Dobby? ´ which would have her shrieking, `Harry Potter! You know the books. ´ and Deucalion responds with, `Never heard of them. ´ And this is the distraction that made it hard for me to write anything good, my own brain sabotaged me.
> 
> To some ideas/history about the characters and things in this fic. Let’s start with Stiles’ name, or the one she was given by Deucalion. Bellatrix was the name of Deucalion’s mother, a werewolf who was killed when he was very young, but she was called Bella most of the time. 
> 
> Deucalion’s little brother, decided with a few of Deucalion’s betas to remove their weak alpha (his brother had no intentions of harming Alexandra or the babies, but I’m not sure her wife would’ve risked having them around), but well things didn’t go as planned. 
> 
> Bellatrix was saved by a couple of fae’s she’d befriended, who were quick to take her away from the danger they sensed chasing her. They would’ve loved to have kept her, but in the end the fae king and queen decided that the child should be returned to her own realm since they could feel it in their bones she had much left to do, and so she was left sleeping inside the tent of a young couple out camping and hiking; although Bella had been missing for almost 3 years, but she hadn’t aged one bit, and because they faery folk didn’t trust the mad alpha not to go for the child, or anyone else who might work or know Deucalion, they made sure to change just enough off her appearance to throw people off her trail, this change wouldn’t last long and so by the time she was adopted she looked like their dear little Bella, which is why Talia recognizes her. 
> 
> Talia Hale was Bella’s godmother because Deucalion wanted his daughter to have a powerful and respected godmother, a person he could trust to look after his daughter if something ever happened to him, and Talia had felt honoured by this and had loved the little girl and when she’d felt the bond between her and the child break she’d known something terrible had happened. She would’ve gone after Deucalion if she didn’t have a family of her own, and with how badly Derek took the news it was best for her to stay home and help Derek over his grief; and the death of the little girl that had charmed her son, who’d always had such a negative few about girls, had hit Derek hard. 
> 
> Now Bella should be about eleven-year old when Talia finds her, but Stiles is about eight-years old which immediately sets some alarm bells ringing in Talia’s head, telling her that her goddaughter hadn’t just disappeared but that someone had kept her and stopped her from aging for at least a few-years. Of course, Talia is glad that Bella is alive, but it also makes her feel a little bit nervous because what if Deucalion finds out about it? Talia can’t trust Deucalion, not after what he’d done, not after what the rumours say about what he’s become, and so maybe she begins to keep a closer eye on Stiles, going as far as to invite Claudia and Stiles over to her house in hopes of building a friendship between herself and Claudia. 
> 
> What if Derek comes home from his basketball practice, and the moment he smells Stiles he knows who she is, and he just stands there gawking at her while she and Cora play a board game in the living-room?
> 
> What if one day it turns out that Stiles’ imaginary friends aren’t all that imaginary?


End file.
